


twin snakes

by thedevilbites



Series: open up wide [2]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Banter, Casual Discussions of Rape, Choking, Darkish Themes, Dr.Quinzel flashbacks, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Suicide Squad (2016), Rough Sex, Their version of fluff lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:53:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilbites/pseuds/thedevilbites
Summary: “You look like a mannequin,” she sniffs instead, pointedly ignoring his observation.“Andyoulook like shit,” Joker notes, crawls forward until he’s sitting besides her on the bed, “now answer the question.”
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Joker/Harley
Series: open up wide [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097444
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	twin snakes

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't my best work, but i wanted to post it anyway because i had fun writing it

“Hush,” Joker tells her, and she does, for he is ethereal and glittering white like a saint, as if there is a spotlight illuminating his silhouette from behind. 

And who is she to deny this solemn figure of worship, one whose halo refuses to dim even as it seems at odds with their surroundings—iron bars reaching upwards like greedy fingers and cold slabs of concrete beneath their feet.

Harley passes her espresso machine, and stares resolutely at his back, refusing to be distracted. Her stomach growls. She does not give it the time of day, instead steps through the charred hole in the wall (still smoking from the explosion) and into the limelight.

Joker stops before her. She pads next to him, then freezes on the spot.

There are rows of men before them, gargoyles lined up on the first and second floor with their guns drawn. Griggs stands at the center of it all, poised like the man from a dentist-certified toothpaste commercial. Harley blinks. She yawns at their barrels, gums reared back, face scrunched up all soft and cat-like. Her limbs feel both raw and heavy.

She turns towards her partner. “Puddin’, I’m tired.”

Joker shifts his head, appraises her for a few seconds. “Fine,” he flaps a hand lazily behind him. His eyes never leave hers, but she knows that he takes in the way the guards pause, and look around themselves apprehensively just as well as he’s assessing her for signs of damage.

“Let’s go home,” he says, then turns from her and takes a step forward. He faces the guards, and puts his hands on his hips to imitate Griggs. “I’m going to have to ask you gentlemen to move.”

“We won’t be the ones doing much of that,” Griggs calls from the masses, and Harley doesn’t miss the way Joker’s face shutters close. Blinds drawn. Nobody behind the steering wheel.

“Oh, really?” He wags a finger at them, but Harley whines loudly besides him. She knows that tone. He wants to play, but all she wants is to sleep. She’s barely standing as it is.

Joker turns to her, face alight and suddenly cheery. “Yes, Harls?”

“I thought you said we were going home.” She stretches out the last word, almost stomps her foot, too. 

He sighs heavily besides her. “Harley—“

_“Home.”_

Joker purses his lips, fixes her with a look. She stares back. He turns on the balls of his feet, gives the guards a ‘one moment’ motion, then fluidly spins back to her.

She opens her mouth before he can, pitching her voice low, “You made me a promise, Puddin’. You said you would come and get me, and you said we would leave right after.”

“Harley,” he sing-songs, _“Daddy_ needs his relaxation time.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I didn’t fall into acid— _willingly_ —for a liar.”

Joker sighs heavily, hands clenching around thin air. He hates it when she plays the ‘acid card.’

 _“And,”_ she barrels forward, _“I. Am. Tired.”_

He opens his mouth, pauses. Tells her to spin around. Harley blinks at him, then slowly rotates in a circle.

Something in what he sees must upset him because she sees his jaw twitches, like a bug trying to crawl out. _“Fuck,”_ he enunciates, then presses a hand to the small of her back to steer her forwards. 

“Kill them all,” he calls into the air, voice flat while he slicks his hair back, and a second later there’s a swarm of people running out behind him. 

Harley closes her eyes against the bullets. She really _is_ tired. “C’mon,” she hears Joker growl from somewhere above her, so she shakes her head and blinks a few times to clear it.

His nails dig more firmly into her back, and she breaks into a run. 

Where he leads, she follows.

\-- 

As it turns out, Joker wants to know if she was raped. 

Harley—is _seething,_ and not entirely sure why. “I wasn’t fucking _raped,”_ she spits at him, bringing her knees up to her chest, and leaning back against the headboard.

His concern is nothing new, but this feels different. Unwelcome, somehow. It skitters down her spine like a nest of newborn spiders, and her hands itch to slap them off.

She doesn’t understand why he’s asking. She tells him so.

He digs a finger into the mattress, stares at her legs. “I know when you’ve been touched,” he tells her, face so impassive she gets a little uncomfortable looking at him. 

“You look like a mannequin,” she sniffs instead, pointedly ignoring his observation.

“And _you_ look like shit,” he notes, crawls forward until he’s sitting besides her on the bed, “now answer the question.”

“I look fucking great,” she hisses at him.

_“Harley.”_

“Look, being _touched,_ and being _raped_ are two different things.”

“Yeah?” He slurs, inching even closer.

“Yeah.”

“Which was it, then?”

Harley sighs loudly, then admits, _“Touched.”_

There’s a beat, and then his hands come at her so fast she doesn’t have time to react. His hands curl around her throat, fingers like gilded neck rings. She sputters and kicks at him. Her cheeks burn.

Joker flips them over, digs her spine into the mattress while she gasps emptily above him. “Did they touch you here?” He hisses in her face, slides one hand between their bodies, and folds a hand over her underwear, cupping her.

She opens and closes her mouth at him. Her world shrivels up to the axis of her thighs. She is a raisin in the sun. Everything is dry and raspy and too warm. She wants him to move his fingers. She wants him to let her breathe. She wants him to suck out all the air from her body, let it mingle and fester in his own lungs.

Joker squeezes his hand once against her throat, makes her see stars, then releases her, and braces his body on his elbows instead.

“Going to rape me, too, Puddin’,” Harley asks him, eyes fluttering closed. She feels weak and tingly. Her body shakes.

“Can’t assault the willing, Harls,” he mutters back at her, his thumb grazing her again in smooth, circular motions. Her hips jerk against his, and he laughs. 

“What a truly _altruistic_ life motto,” she gasps, head falling back against the pillow as he finally slides one finger inside of her, then another. She moans. She’s wet, sticky and clear smearing across her thighs. It feels so, so good. She hates him and herself and everything around them. She’s suddenly, obnoxiously, overwhelmed. She wants him to—

“Stop,” Harley stutters, and Joker stills at once. His hand freezes between her legs. He turns into a statue above her, body metamorphosing into marble. 

She’s panting hard, chest heaving. 

Her eyes roll to the back of her head. 

_She is Dr. Quinzel._

_She was diagnosed with asthma when she was eleven, and she carries an inhaler with her whenever she leaves the house, tucks it away in her beige Kate Spade purse._

_It’s sturdy, the purse. Her grandma bought it for her as a—_

Harley blinks. When she looks back up at him, Joker is staring down at her with a curious tilt to his head. He’s half-smiling. She struggles to grin back. “How is the good ol’ doctor doing?” He asks, voice carefully neutral.

“She isn’t a problem,” Harley answers immediately.

Joker hums, then slowly crawls off of her, sitting back on his haunches. It feels easier to breathe, but she misses his presence.

“Not a problem,” Harley repeats, looks him directly in the eye. “She’s dead. I’m here, now.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

She scowls, sits up, and he lets her. “You want to shock me.”

“I do.” He pauses, deliberating, then adds, “Tomorrow.”

“But, Puddin’—”

 _“Hey,”_ he hushes her, finger on her lips, and she falls silent. He bends down low, hands curling around her wrists, and she smiles despite herself.

“Don’t you like it when I hurt you, Harls?” His mouth finds her collarbone, starts gently biting at her skin.

 _“Yes,”_ she admits, then rears up, and sinks her teeth into the tendons where his neck and shoulder meet. He groans, eyes closing momentarily.

“You're going to pay for that.”

“Yeah?” she challenges, flexing her hands in his grasp. Harley giggles into the darkness. His hand travels down her stomach, and this time she spreads her legs willingly. He guides her hand down her own body with him, and she grins up at him.

There is good here, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, so, i feel like the characterization isn't completely accurate in this fic. it feels like "would he/she really say that?" in my head right now, but i'm still (sorta) happy with this one, so oh well.
> 
> also this definitely diverges from canon, but i wasn't necessarily trying to stick to it lol
> 
> ALSO: 
> 
> wonderful humans, come say hi! @thedevilbites on tumblr!


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